You Dropped Your Books Nerd
by larrythestapler
Summary: In the darkness of the night, Harry steals Hermione's innocence forever. The glance in Draco's eyes soften as he sees Hermione running through the crowd. Will he be able to bring her back? Rated T for implied abuse and alcohol. Dramione.
1. Vanishing Innocence

You Dropped Your Books Nerd

_larrythestapler_

A/N: After reading a few stories and novels about rape, I felt inspired to write a fanfiction :) But I can't honestly say that I've ever experienced it, so forgive me if my character isn't very developed. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

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"You dropped your books, nerd," the pale boy with slicked back hair told her. The blond sneered, although he did help her with her numerous textbooks. The concept was odd, but for the whole year, Draco Malfoy had become more kindhearted than ever, although still retaining a condescending, haughty attitude. He shoved the stack of books back into her arms and stared at her as she regained her balance.

Hermione looked up and replied with a mumbled colloquial greeting with a quiet thank you. She didn't have time for the stuck-up idiot. She spent her last few days avoiding the glorified Harry Potter. She lived in the poorest quality of life, her straight hair knotted and tangled, up in a pragmatic bun. Her face, pale, had a dry complexion, but her bright blue eyes lit up with fear and wariness. Dressed in a shaggy robe and faded jeans, she marched out of the way, around ten or twelve books in her arm.

And with just the resonance of his hollowed name, she remembered the incidence.

The party at school was magnificent, loud, crowded. Harry wrapped his scrawny arms around her, chatting about Quidditch and wizarding sports as they ripped through the crowded hall. She loved Harry's endless questions and curiousity; it enrichened the quality of her soul and spirit. They awkwardly fit somehow, she being a reprimanding bookworm, and him a dreamy athletic hero. Hermione felt loved, and trusted the warmth of his emerald eyes. He was considerate, charming, and popular. His words felt savvily charming and sweet, as they rang in her ears, especially those three words of epic bliss. She entered the room with her boyfriend, thinking he honestly cherished her emotions and being.

Christmas was a big deal at the school. The halls were decked with holly,wreaths, and gifts exploded from every corner. Cheer littered the ambiance, smiles pasted on every face. The brunette smiled at the sight.

The smile quickly vanished when she saw a swig of alcohol in Harry's hands.

"Harry, you shouldn't drink." Hermione reprimanded sternly. She grabbed the beer from his hand.

"Hermione, it's one sip. Loosen up and have a little fun." Harry slapped her hand and took back the alcohol. Hermione smiled shyly, submissive to his laced words. Love was more important than rules, and she had one chance to make it right, she compensated. The party continued on, at a faster pace.

Sips soon turned to bottles, and soon, they found themselves playing a game of Spin the Bottle with a group of strangers, crossed on the floor of outer garden of the school, near a dark campfire. It glowed a bright orange, and Harry spun the bottle, but before the act, checked for remaining drops of liquid. It spun, and spun, for an eternity, and Hermione felt a knot in her stomach when it pointed at her. The group cheered crudely, and Harry took her hand to the shack to fulfill seven minutes in heaven.

After a short walk, and a brief chat, Harry took her to the shabby shack near the Forbidden Forest. Walking awkwardly from the burning alcohol, he pushed her into the shack gently, and planted a kiss on her lips. It was cold, and soft, his breath tasting sweet. Hermione blossomed, and blushed from the awkward moment.

"I love you Harry."

"I love you too." A long kiss followed, and Harry suggested them to go back to the dorms in a buzzed, broken voice. Hermione's mind could not escape from the bliss, fooled and deceived by the lies of love.

But no, Harry did not lead her back to the dorms. After experimenting with strong liquor, the smell and power blinding his ability to think, he grabbed her hand out of the shack and led her under a tree in the Forbidden Forrest in the darkness of the night. She complied, without much thought, still shocked from the grip of his warm hands and the planted liplocking.

But an evil sentiment stole her that moment.

Suddenly, the boy who lived pushed her against an enormous silvery tree, restricting her from breathing properly. His wet lips, his breath stanching of strong liquor pressed against her chapped lips; it felt dirty and repulsive. An ugliness spread throughout her soul, as a sentiment of violation shocked her. The moon shone above them, oblivious of the dangers of the night.

Hermione began whimpering, struggling to remove herself from Harry's presence. He increased the pressure on her body, applying more force to Hermione's petite frame as his lips parted to moan slightly, his hands wrapped around her wispy hair.

"This needs to happen 'Mione. I love you." His mouth moaned yes, but his bright green eyes flashed of a foreboding evil, as if a beast were unleashed in his subconscious. Harry pushed her to the muddy ground, cool from the winter weather. Crudely, unevenly, his wet lips were still attached to hers, and Hermione's face was now stained with tears, scared, guilty, and lost. She struggled to push him, but he choked her with his free hand, running down her neck to the privacy of her lower abdomen. The breath of alcohol polluted the air, as he removed her upper garments, and made his way to her lower abdomen. Hermione struggled for her wand, crying in the cold darkness, no one hearing her quiet screams. And then, complete darkness came into her and the moon darkened to a deep indigo.

She was lost.

Quickly fumbling for her wand on the cold snowy ground, she reached for it and with effort casted a Patronus charm. She remembered the first time she met Ron and Harry, the permanent smiles on their faces when they first met one another. Exuberant rhapsody.

She expected an otter to come, and rescue her from the inconsolable disgust and lament she felt.

In the background, the screech of a bird echoed in the forest.

It was not the otter. No, it was the screaming mockingbird who rescued her, leaving Harry Potter on the floor, unaware of the winter weather, his surroundings, or the person next to him. His green eyes flashed, hollowed, dead, and he stayed on the dirty ground until rosy Dawn touched the sky with her magnificence. Hermione watched, as her bare skin touched the soiled ground, the flight of the silvery mockingbird, crying a melancholic song of lament and despair. Saved from danger, she quickly made her way back to the dorms as she realized her predicament, the night stealing away her secret forever. Her lips were sealed from the event, fear numbing her mind and body.

Never. Never would she forget the evil in his eyes. Never would she forget the way the careless moon shone through the night without care. Never would Hermione forget the taste of his wet liquored lips. Never will she forget the silence of the trees and the frigidness of the snowy ground. Absolutely never would she forget the night she lost her innocence forever. Never would she forgive Harry. Never.

Hermione stormed off after Malfoy rejoined his group, sneering at her, but the sincere gaze in his eyes never permanently left. His gray eyes softened a bit, and watched the storming girl make her way through the crowd.


	2. Infidelity

You Dropped Your Books Nerd:: Chapter 2_-Fidelity_  
_larrythestapler_

**A/N: Thank you to all my alerters and reviewers! I've never gotten so many a day, and you guys really made my day! (I was having this incredibly crappy week...) This might be longer than I expected, but I'll try my best to alter it!**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

The day ironically went on without Hermione's emotional consent. The sun stood brilliantly, unaware of the hurt and pain suffered by the brown-haired girl. She felt violated, and chills ran through her heart, spreading to all of her body. Tears, she could no longer rely on, with the pain of the numbness conflicting for her body. The smell of his drunken breath still lived in her mouth, and the sole of her chastity was gone forever. Hermione stopped in the middle of her tracks and took a seat on an irregularly shaped rock. The young seventeen year-old felt no urge to return to her dorm; she was late for class anyway.

***

Hermione walked herself to the free clinic outside of Hogsmeade. Snow had returned, and an icy weakness lingered in Hermione's heart. The wind whispered in her ears, resonating the cold tone of _its _foreboding voice. A week had passed since the incident, and the feeling of violation never left her. Her mind had eased back slightly to its original state, but the numbness and shock never left. She felt no need to continue in life, and skipped classes and meals often since _it _had brushed its cold hands on her. Whenever food entered her mouth, a sharp sting of alcohol and vomit and tears condimented her food. She no longer showed up at events, but spent most of her days in the dorm rooms or library in a corner, distracting herself with a book, and keeping a jackknife near her side. Magic, it never came to her defense anymore. No longer could she rely on such an absurd force. Now she was at the clinic, _hoping_ for a stick to turn yellow.

"Prince, Tina?" Hermione rose. She had taken her mother's maiden name, in hopes and fears. She walked toward the door as a nurse assisted her to a small clinic room. The nurse handed her a cup and a pregnancy test. As the perky nurse was about to close the door, a young male interrupted her, carrying a stack of beige folders.

"Ellen, where do these files go?" A young volunteer asked. He was handsome, young, but his eyes were stone cold. He was Draco Malfoy, and Hermione let out a small gasp.

"To the brown cabinet, Mr. Malfoy," she sternly replied. Hermione looked away, in fear of being caught. She eyed the bright pills to her side warily. Prozac...As she reached to open the orange bottle, the nurse opened the door once again. The falsely sincere nurse came in and locked the door for Hermione, as she spoke sharp words to Draco's ears.

_What the hell is he doing here? He can't know. No one can know. _Hermione reached for the thin white stick that would ultimately decide her fate.

Her hand shook as she held the little white stick. The indicator turned green, bright yellow, chartreuse. But a feeling of relief stole her as it turned yellow once again. A feeling of relief came upon her, as she rejoiced to the fact that nothing was growing inside of her, especially not conceived from _it. _Still, she felt wounded and empty-minded. A clinic doctor entered, and interrogated her about _the incident_, words spewing out of his mouth. Everything was mute, but her guilty heart beat steadily. A shallow sadistic whisper played in her ear, and she felt coolness on her skin.

Little did Hermione know that Draco Malfoy stayed outside the door the entire time.

***

Draco perused the Forbidden Forest. The sense of adventure in early morning calmed him, as he made way through the bushy plants and tall trees. The fresh air opened his senses, and an enigma of solitude overwhelmed him, not in a bad way. He remembered Hermione at the Muggle clinic. He still felt the wrath of her damaged beauty, the way her soft wheat hair fell to her scarf, and the flushed gaze of her azure eyes. He had fallen in love at first punch when Hermione gave him a bloody nose in their third year together. It seemed as if she knocked some sense into him after all. Draco grew tired of ditzy girls pursuing him; Granger had brains and confidence. But a sentiment of damage reflected off of her the last time he saw her, and he grew curious.

His reverie stopped midtrack when he saw an injured silvery bird lying on the cold muddy floor under a slim, silver tree. Draco picked it up, and her weak chirps coming from it. He gingerly picked it up and wrapped it in a silvery cloth. Its wings were wounded by green glass. Draco sighed, and silently reprimanded the raucous party goers.

Reprimanded? Since when did _Draco Malfoy _become so sensitive?

Party goers. Thinking of party goers, he gazed at group of adolescents above the hill to the castle. Pushed to a tree, he saw a redheaded girl caress a bespectacled boy as they shared a long kinky kiss in the cloudy morning. _Oh._

***

His eyes softened to see her through the crowd. He impulsively pushed through the queue of students and after a few pushes found a limping Hermione Granger walking toward the Gryffindor dormitories. Something urged him to help her. A hidden instinct of protectiveness overcame his body; the slicked-haired blond felt a connection between the silvery bird and the broken-smiled girl.

"Hey. Granger, do you need help?" Draco said in a froggy voice, trying to walk coolly past Hermione. He was offering help, and even more shamefully, a nonpureblood. Hermione cocked an eyebrow as he pulled the books from her arms. Grabbing them back, she accidentally pushed him to the floor.

"Why are you helping me, you jerk?" Hermione mused in a monotonous tone. She pulled her books back to her arm as Draco lifted himself off the floor.

"You're nuts, to carry that many books. I thought I could help," Draco argued.

"Yeah, you can go help my--" The bell rang as Hermione marched away from Draco.

"Mudblood, the bell rang. You're going to be late for class. What are you doing, going back to the dorms?"

"Stuff," Hermione mumbled. A curiosity rang within her, as she became suspicious as of why the cocky seventh year helped her. He always seemed so flashy and intact; she doubted had any problems to deal with. He was no more than a rich pretty boy, walking the campuses with pride and gut. So cynically, a wary Hermione conjectured one of two things. One, he was planning to kill her, two, he was going to abuse her body like the way _it _did. The latter would not make sense, so she assumed a cowardly Draco with a Death Eater father would do the previous.

"At least let me help you," he whispered.

"Fine. You'll be a no good truant too. I hope you're SATISFIED," she screamed angrily as she pushed the books into his arms. And he was, as he carried the leather books to the girl dormitories.

The walk was a silent one, a stretch of estranged silence broke them apart, leaving the walk cold and irritating. Milestone after milestone, a blankness of minds ensued. They passed Harry and Ginny kissing near the empty classrooms and Hermione covered her face with one of her many books as she made her way to her room.

They finally reached the common rooms. Hermione pulled her books back and mumbled a thank you. And Draco pulled the nerve to say what he had on his mind.

"You seem pissed. Are you okay?" Draco asked with a cocked eyebrow. "Jilted by Potter? I saw Weasley's twit sister snogging him this morning. I've always suspected that whore. Er, well, we just passed them, but this morning..."

"It could just be YOU." Hermione said, irritated. But her heart leaped. _That fast. Her heart silently yearned for Harry. She had missed the warmth of his perfect embrace. But never could she scratch out the cold memory of the dark night before as his cold lips pressed against hers, pressuring the life out of her psyche as he stole her purity forever. _Draco let out a long sigh. Hermione finally "Why do you want to help me?"

"I dunno. Luck then, Granger." Draco made his way out without a further comment when Hermione paused as he reached for the door.

A sentiment overwhelmed her. It was not suspicion, but rather, _trust. _Something about Draco forced her to open up.

And then Hermione blurted what was in her mind the entire time. She could not hold the secret no longer, as it tore her mind and innocence apart. Those three little words finally came out of her mouth. Crisply, dryly, Hermione said them out loud.

"I was raped."

A/N: Perhaps with a little magic, she just might switch? :) (I don't own _Music and Lyrics_).


	3. Conversations

Chapter 3: Conversations

Larrythestapler

A/N: Sorry for not updating in forever! It mostly a fluffy conversation between the two now, most of the talk of which I heavily borrowed from the _House MD_ episode "One Day, One Room." Thank you to all my favoriters, alerters, and reviewers! Your actions squish out my nougaty center!

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter_

*~*~*~*~*~*

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Draco offered awkwardly. Emotional problems were never his forte, and shock and awkwardness were only a portion of the sentiments he felt. Leading her out the dormitories, he came to a series of awkward questions to ask the pallid girl.

"Why did you tell me?" Draco asked, as they marched down into the depth of the Forbidden Forest. The snow-covered trees stayed static as they made their way around its beauty. Spring was coming, but it was not a cathartic season for Hermione. No, a strange odor lingered above the air, a strange odor of impurity and injustice.

"I don't know." Hermione replied flatly. She looked at her thick leather boots and glanced dully at Draco. Silence estranged them for several minutes, before Draco came up with another statement.

"Would you like to talk about what happened to you?" Draco asked, holding Hermione's hand to drag her up the snowy log blocking their path. She brushed the snow off her mittens and replied with a dull, succinct:

"No."

"Was it Potter?" Hermione flinched from the name. It resonated in her head over and over again, hitting the natural frequency of the disgusting name. "'_You goddamn whore. I'll kill you.'" _The cold voice cut her like salt on a wound and she did not reply. It was cold, colder than the frigid climate covered by a blanket of innocent snow. Draco let go of the question as he gently moved Hermione over to the dirty bench in the middle of the forest. He took a seat and offered Hermione the one next to his.

"Are you pregnant?" the slick-haired blond asked gently. Talking to Hermione felt difficult, even though he had had a crush on her all these years.

"No."

"ST—"

"No."

"Why did you tell me? It holds no interest for me. Nothing personal, but it's not my thing. Go see a psychiatrist."

"No, no, I had to tell you. I trust you." Hermione answered stubbornly. She perspired to relieve the cumbersome feeling. She sought relief and comfort, but Draco Malfoy definitely did not classify as bears and honey or a plush animal fluffed with the softest plush. No, he was in fact, a rock coated rock with a rock filling. Yet she sensed something, something about him that marked difference. It wasn't that she intended to find interest in him. No, love had gotten her nowhere.

"Me. You trust, _me?_ The son of the alleged follower of Voldemort. The one who wiped out the lives of millions of people. I'm someone who lives by danger and stealth."

"Yeah."

"What do you want to talk about? Me?"

"Sure."

"You were raped, and you want to talk about me?"

Hermione nodded.

"You're not being logical," Draco argued. "I'm not someone you can talk to. I don't know the pain you're going need help." His sigh let out a cloudy puff of cold air. Hermione shook her head solemnly.

"Life has no logic."

"It's all about rationality."

"Yeah? How do you explain why I got raped? Where's the logic in that?" Hermione cried. Draco paused, staring at the deranged girl next to him. The conversation grew irrationally. What previously ran on strained small talk became deeper and more passionate.

"Muggles, wizards. It's basic psychology. We're very emotional, selfish things that seek to satisfy. Sometimes people do things because of the things they have done. Drugs. Alcohol. My rationality isn't helping your irrationality."

"No, I have to talk to you."

"What? Because of some God? There is and isn't a God. Things are based on rationalizations," Draco answered coldy.

"Please don't talk about that of my faith," said Hermione angrily. She threw her first on the bench. It shook and the birds piling near them flew away to avoid the argument. The sun slipped loose, and soon, the dark, wintry forest lit up with the sun's shine. It reveled Draco's covered concern and Hermione's odd disinterest but persistence in the conversation.

"Things like this are so common. People get raped. That day might have been somebody's birthday, somebody's wedding. My point is, somebody was happy. If everyone gave a crap about everything life would be unbearable."

"But you should give a crap about those you meet, shouldn't you? It would teach you humanity. Life is who we end up with. It's simply fate..." Hermione felt annoyed with Draco; nevertheless, she needed this conversation.

"It's not fate. It's bad statistics. You lost control when you were raped. Now you're just trying to gain all that control by forcing me to talk. Oh dear."

"So what you're saying is, I'm raping you?"

"In a very annoying, nonphysical way. Runny nose." Draco wiped his snot on a small white handkerchief and tucked the debris in his jacket pocket. Hermione stared straight at his face and challenged him with a question, a question that Draco could not answer. Her electric blue eyes pierced into his gray orbs and her mouth opened to proceed in saying the following.

"Were you ever hurt?"


	4. Grave Unravelings

You Dropped Your Books Nerd

_larrythestaper_

_Chapter 4: Grave Unravelings_

A/N: Okay readers, I'm SO, SO sorry that I've been ignoring this fanfic. I got lazy, plus I've been in summer school so now, I will continue writing it, hopefully with fidelity. Again, my apologies for leaving it on hiatus for two months. But the apology doesn't cut it. I've tried to make this chapter somewhat good, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed for readers! Stay sparkly clean!

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**Recap**: Dun dun dun! *cue dramatic instrumental music*

Preciously on _You Dropped Your Books Nerd_:

"Why did you tell _me_?" Draco asked, as they marched down into the depth of the Forbidden Forest

***

"What? Because of some God? There is and isn't a God. Things are based on rationalizations," Draco answered coldy.

***

"Were you ever hurt?"

***

Readers, see what Draco has to say, to Hermione's malingering question!

* * *

"It doesn't pertain to you," Draco dryly replied. "Go, go seek help. I can't help you." Hermione remained stationary. Draco had never kept up with such a stubborn individual, but his heart felt a nurturing compassion. It hit him that moment what could have helped her. But alternatively, his own pain could not cancel out hers. It could not nullify anything, but only add to the cumbersome weight of their worlds.

But he felt it had to be done. He just knew in his gut he had to do it. It was impossible to remain soberly cold around her. He felt such vibrant energy and vivacious life near Hermione. And he had yet to see it.

It felt odd to know that if it were not for a terrible collision, he would not have been here with her. It felt bizarre. He had distanced from his friends ever since talking to her, and an unsettling discomfiture always yawned between them whenever Hermione's incident came up. He took notice to the shriveled, lifeless lily on the side of the forest's pathway. Travelers remained impervious to it. Travelers who had once admired its flashing beauty and lovely scent now disregarded its existence.

He knew he _should_ tell her.

But _would_ it really help her?

"Fine, I actually have a place to show you." Draco gestured for her to take his hand. He eschewed looking right at Hermione, but instead looked through her, as if he felt a reign of shame and embarrassment riding through both of them with every glance.

"You didn't answer my question," Hermione stated stiffly. The slick young blonde sat back down and jumped when he awkwardly touched Hermione's porcelain colored hand. She flinched.

"Sorry," he mumbled. The girl remained resilient to his speech. "Come on, I'll tell you if you just go with me." A hazy, promising feeling of trust meandered in Draco's calm voice. He pulled Hermione's hand. The feeling felt secure to both of them. Friendly and complete. But this trust? It should not translate into unconditional trust, or worse, love. At least not at the moment. For the moment, Hermione kept a suspicious, indifferent façade.

"Are you making improper advances?" Her bluntness surprised him. Draco chortled quietly in the other direction.

"No."

"Fine. Don't touch me." She delicately gave a signal of acceptance, and he magnanimously escorted her. They took the long route to Hogsmeade and ripped through the complaisant snow powdered village. The cheerfulness of the village breached the confining barriers of their hearts. Just a little bit. In high hopes of seeming charming, Draco covered Hermione's eyes gently when they neared their destination.

"You know," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose, "I just saw you wiping snot a few minutes ago."

"Fine, I'll cast a temp blinding spell. _Regarde._" And as a graceful sunset merely fades, Hermione's vision vanished with Draco's elegant wave of a wand. Her vision blacked out completely, but an enduring strength bonded her other senses; every smell grew sharper, every touch penetrated her soul, every sound buzzed in her ears as if to compensate for her loss of sight.

A warm buzzing feeling arrived as when Draco's heavy footsteps stopped completely.

"Here's my humble thinking spot." Draco looked up at the faithful blue sky. Today, it was going to stay the cerulean blue the radio had promised.

"Hmm." Hermione clicked her tongue skeptically, though she felt the reciprocal of her actions. The sentiment of complete vulnerability grew warm and familiar, like the distinct taste of dark chocolate on a cold rainy day. Her eyelids were a fortress of a mother's instinct and unconditional love. Something else fit into the picture of words awkwardly. Perhaps the lanky, young man next to her. Perhaps she was not falling into love, but an unconventional ring of shared pain and hope.

"You're going to like it." Draco reversed the charm... Hermione slowly opened her eyes as she let out a small sigh. As she opened her eyes, Draco felt his heart leap quickly. He could not help but notice the beauty in her pale skin and ruby red lips as the electrifying blue in her eyes sparked. Her eyes. His mum's eyes. Looking into Hermione's eyes he heard the warm laughter of his mother and felt the gentle stroke that he had no felt in such a long time. He gazed at her once again, profound.

Her mouth opened drolly. A fresh, steady breeze flew right by them as an air of peace haunted the silent roses and gray stones beneath her shoes. They were at a small, homely cemetery. She kneeled down to the grave in front of her. Hermione's tight, scornful complexion disappeared, but her gaze softened as she read the neatly cut lettering on the slab of stone in facing her.

NARCISSA MALFOY 1953-1990

_Beauty not concealed beneath my psyche can be viewed with the eyes of the pure heart._

***

The strange epitah graved its words into both their souls as a respectful silence saluted to the long deceased. The words were haunting, eerie, but highly appropriate. An strange image of a classy young woman, jaded away from her hopes and dreams imbued Hermione's mind. The youthful brunette let out a small cough, glancing away from the stone.

A handful of lilies were placed on Narcissa's grave, kept beautiful and lush by a glowing preservation charm. It was simple and clean compared to the other flower covered, balloon-littered graves.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered softly, letting out a puff of cold air. Draco joined her, seating himself on the snow-powdered grass. They sat, with their legs crisscrossed, contemplating on the sorrow and awkwardness of the moment.

"Don't be. It was her time. She wasn't completely free of fault either. Alcohol. My jackass of a father would come home drunk and unpleasant to the both of us. He'd stay quiet on good days and violent when he was pissed." Draco took a breath. He played with his green scarf as snow melted under his bottom.

"My mom, she was a good person. Just had a drinking problem. She would drink herself to assuage that pain, drowning herself with Firewhiskey. I was eight. It wasn't a magical problem. With or without magic, you need your liver." Draco paused. "Things didn't work out too well. We were dirt poor, until my wuss of a father asskissed the Dark Lord, so there was no way she could top the transplant list. The Muggle doctors did their best to help her but…"

The young man's voice grew shakier and more fatigue as the momentum built. Hermione peered at him with not only warm regards but admiration and respect. In effort to relinquish the uncomfortable sadness of the moment, she changed the subject.

"I saw you at the Muggle clinic," she piped meekly.

"Yeah, I do volunteer work here and there." He stopped fidgeting with his scarf. "I actually wish to go on to Muggle medical school rather than get a job in the Wizarding community. My arse of an aunt Bellatrix is deadset on me becoming a Death Eater, but hell, I'm not that stupid to throw my life away. Any idea what you want to do coming down the homestretch?"

"No, never pondered upon it. I've always busied myself with school. Never thought much about the future."

"I see. Look are we just going to digress about this stuff? You need to be able to face yourself again."

"Sometimes, sometimes it's better just to remember the boring stuff. All the drama melts down one day, right? A course of sorrow can lead to a desert of happiness." Hermione gazed up at the sky, allowing her mind to contemplate hard upon life's little queries, almost forgetting what had happened.

"I suppose," Draco responded mechanically. They walked and waded around the boundaries of the quiet cemetery, leaving tracks in the thin layer of snow on the ground, awkwardly looking back every now and then. A path, however vague, appeared, transitioning the silent blooming of spring transfigured , and soon a weak sign of the sun popped out from loyal pastel sky.

"It's a nice blue out. Like your eyes," Draco smiled. Hermione's reaction complied slowly, but it surprised them both when it was finally let out.

He finally got her to do the one thing she had not done for such a long time.

She laughed.

* * *

A/N: Meh, my characters were more one dimensional. (Also suspicious of grammar/ writing errors, story not beta'd.) I've been trying to insinuate the mild tension between the two protagonists, but I'm not implying any strong love. That damsel in distress crap is overrated. I'm actually supposed to be doing AP homework right now, but ha, we can see that I'm working really hard. I'll try to update soon, with at least two more installments for the story! Hope you guys are all peachy! xo

(PS: Regarde actually means "look" in French, so the use of it as a blinding spell was totally inappropriate.)


	5. This is For

You Dropped Your Books Nerd

A/N: Inspiration from Ingrid Michaelson's new single and Sara Bareilles' old album.

**Chapter 5: This Is For**

The moon hung from a sky like a ruthless spectator.

A wet, uncomfortable feeling crawled under her neck. She felt a field of cold, moistness crawled on her skin, spreading and a dark, sweet voice run through her ears in the for of nonchalant whispers. She could not see it. It bothered her, not being able to see it.

The annoying sound of a cawing bird polluted her ears, diluting the sultry low whispers. An overbearing scent of harvest autumn, so innocent and innocuous, let itself wrap around her body. A murderer was abroad, neither a lover nor a martyr. Somewhere a lion tore its bloodied victim down mercilessly. The brunette felt her jaw positioning for a scream, yet only silence escaped from her drolly-opened mouth. Mechanical wrestles and struggles persisted and only until complete darkness swallowed the night did it die down.

Her blood went cold.

And then, nothing.

Hermione jumped. A small noise emanated from her jump and she head creeping footsteps outside the room. She hid in a small corner, hidden by thick shelves of books and with a single plugged-in night light on the wall. Old antiques piled themselves on the surface of the bookshelves. Hermione found herself cradling with a thick leather book, using her hand as a bookmark to the page she was on. An old skull fell. She sneezed.

"Where am I?" she heard her echo resonating as she lifted her body weight from the smooth floor of the room. Her peripheral vision allowed her to browse the room, without having to look back, for she feared of what was behind her. Old, broken rubbish lay in the room. She did not move. Books provided her with safety.

Oh. And Hermione realized where she was hiding that moment.

She was in the Room of Requirements. The brown-haired witch remembered after stressing Prefect duties last night, she slumped in a corner of the school, desperately wishing for a place to stay and study. In reality, she sought a room to feel secure in, a safe place to sleep, far from Harry Potter.

She despised meeting Harry's eyes whenever she crossed him in the Gryffindor common room. She busied herself in studying when he came near, drawing cold blood in her body, although he acted completely ignorant to her existence. Hermione became very cautious, very wary, and very fearful of his presence. Last night he was right behind her, excusing himself from the restroom, she fled, and found a corner in the castle to hide in.

Hermione gazed out the small, Tudor-arched window. Dawn, dawn had come. And with the new day, raindrops gently dropped from the sky. And yet she could not ignore the approaching footsteps. How queer for her to hear noises from the room.

Her eyes refocused on the breaking dawn. Night finally let go, and let the bright dawn creak in quietly. Dawn reminded her of the brilliant bond of trust in Harry's eyes. Harry's green eyes. The forest green connected with his lime green eyes. The morning dew lit the entire grounds of the school with a cheerful green of the grass and bubbly pink of the flowers. She missed him, yet could not push away the feeling of complete resentment from his existence. She could not escape from his gravity.

A glistening dewy watery bead lanced from her eyes. She felt trapped in the middle somewhere foreign. The past felt like a far, shadowy, unwanted region, yet the future was filled with hope and doubts. Hopelessly, she sat on a pile of books, letting dust collect, and ancient antiques fall on her head.

The footsteps came closer. They boomed.

The door creaked. Why didn't it lock? Was her heart that vulnerable and in lack of fortitude?

"No—No, please don't come in, don't—" she hiccupped through tears, slowly taking out her wand. "No—"

She looked up and saw the door open. Hermione could not see the intruder, the intruder of her thoughts and actions. She could not see him, but the hairs on her neck jumped when the trespasser revealed his voice.

"Granger?" A male voice inquired. And there it was. A voice she had become familiar with. A voice she guiltily craved for like chocolate on a winter day. A voice filled with warmth and courage and love.

No reply.

"Granger, are crying?" Draco settled the burning lamp on the floor. The "P" on his burning lamp indicated that he was on prefect duty. The flame magically blew over itself.

Silence.

"Hermione," he mouthed robotically, "are you okay?"

"Yes, no, I don't know. I'm so completely out of it. I can't focus on schoolwork, can't focus on anything. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl." She bit her lip, trying to avoid showing any more weakness. The feeling was sickening. Dependency on Draco made her feel vulnerable, not in anyway complacent. He, himself, felt the urge to antagonize her. Yet he did not, finally knowing what he had to do. At times like this, the right thing always felt like the harder thing to do. He took a seat, crisscrossed, on the pile of books next to her.

"You wouldn't understand, anyway."

"No, I understand, you're feeling lonely and scared," Draco countered.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"It's okay, Granger, just let yourself feel exhausted. For a moment," Draco said softly. He sat quietly next to her, offering his condolences in small gestures. "You're not weak, you know that?"

Bitter, embarrassing tears rolled down her pale cheeks. They poured slowly, cathartically down her cheeks. He was not here to judge. Only to temporarily provide that narrow sense of solace her dispirited psyche lacked. Draco patiently pat her back.

"You're going to be okay. I promise."

TBC

**A/N: I had no intention of this chapter being romantic at all. He's just trying to be a good friend.**

ANYWAY, the next chapter is most likely going to be the last one, and I promise, will have much more action and interest than this one. Hermione's going to sue Harry's nasty butt!


	6. The One Not To Get Away

**YOU DROPPED YOUR BOOKS NERD**

**Chapter 6: The One to Not Get Away** (_**FINALE**_)

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, JRK does.

A/N: Last chapter, hopefully redeems the last one. Slightly more mature, but not exactly M. The bolded/italicized/underlines word kind of gives a little something something. Please read and review, but more importantly, enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

Hermione sat impatiently in a bright orange swirling chair as she waited to meet the social worker she was assigned to. She fixed her glance to the window outside. The day was unusual; it lacked the cheerfulness of spring and fell to the bleakness of a dead winter day.

A loud _clang! _interrupted her reverie. She looked up and saw a pill of woman, dressed neatly in a tweed business suit and wearing black square glasses. Her make-up was vague, though sharp, with her glossy pink lipstick contrasting the rest of her face. The woman slammed a stack of files on the desk as she put away her rolling cart overflowing with papers and took a seat behind the desk Hermione faced.

"Good morning," she paused and looked at her clipboard, "Miss Granger?" She looked up at Hermione, surprised to see how young she was. Still, she addressed her client formally.

"Good morning," Hermione tightened her lips. She stared deeply into the cold gray eyes of the young social worker, slowly falling into the incessant depth of nothing. And all of a sudden, she felt nothing, nothing running through her bloodstream, nothing going to her brain. Nothing coming out of her mouth at the moment as she glanced at the strawberry-blonde woman with her hair pulled neatly back.

"I'm Alicia Rivera, social worker of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Crime," Alicia introduced, pulling out her manicured hand, forcing a smile on her face. Hermione shook it weakly. "May I offer you a drink? Tea? Pumpkin Juice?"

"I'll have tea, thanks." Hermione stared around the office. It felt no less cold than the climate outside. It lacked a personal touch, and was surrounded with certificates and papers hanging from the wall. She made out a small, enchanted picture of a young man holding Alicia in a corner of the room, but looked away when noticed the steam of her tea floating to her face. Hermione tugged at her slacks uncomfortably as she saw Alicia scrawling something down in her little black notebook.

"How can I help you today, Miss Granger?" she inquired, pulling out a fancy silver quill. She came all the way up to this place stanching with law for a reason. She needed to finally tell her story to an outsider. Hermione felt words coming out of her mouth, though _not_ her mouth, but a more confident, proud individual.

"I'd like to file a charge against Harry James Potter for sexual assault." Hermione spoke, staring through the cold gray eyes of the professional Ministry worker. The Ministry worker did not take her seriously.

Alicia chortled lightly, blurting out, "Are you mad, lady? Harry Potter, the boy who lived?" Even the pill could not linger far behind her façade of impartial fakeness.

"I am not mad. He sexually assaulted me." Hermione looked at the social worker with a defiant glare.

"With all due respect, Miss Granger, but that's ludicrous."

"I cannot provide any strong medical aorta, but I can find a way to prove that he is guilty," Hermione looked straight into the eyes of the Ministry worker. She kept it long enough, and finally acquired the object of her desire, a mutual trust.

"You don't mean—" Hey gray eyes sparked. An electric zap passed through her cold, dispassionate eyes and something clicked in her mind. _Veritaserum. _

"Yes." Hermione sensed a mutual lack of emotion between them. But just for that moment, Alicia Rivera honestly listened, and that sufficed. Alicia saw. Though Alicia Rivera was relentlessly cold, she retained a sixth sense for these things. Before her very eyes, a damaged and hurt girl stood. Before her very eyes was also a very indifferent woman.

And in monotone the bemused Ministry worker said, "Before the Ministry can legally provide any drug, you must give the Department of Crime at least one trail of evidence. Then we'll take action. Here's my number." The witch handed her an enchanted business card, to which Hermione held on firmly.

*~*~*~*

The brunette brushed her small black phone grimly. She had called Alicia Rivera, confirming her evidence. A small flower was blooming over the area where Harry raped her. The trees, the ground, the bare bits of snow left remained a graveyard, buried deep by the footsteps of strangers and magical creatures lurking the forest. Broken green glass and torn fragments of her clothes lay innocuously. No one bothered to even stop and stare at the repulsive mess they had made. She touched the flower gently, waving her wand over it a little, and letting it bloom slowly. Transfiguration was inspiring.

Investigating Aurors Apparated to where she stood, and confirmed the case. The evidence provided a blatant picture of what happened that night. The medical examiners checked her body. They saw the scars and bruises. They didn't need Time-Turners or Veritaserum (though they would use it for further inquiries). Harry Potter raped this girl.

She felt a hand touch her shoulder cautiously.

"Hermione." It was nice to hear her name spoken by a friend. She turned and saw a pair of seeping silver eyes. They had melted the cool ice around them and slowly crept up to her clear blue ones.

"Draco," she stopped in her tracks. His face met hers. He smiled. Hermione seldom saw him smile. It was nice. It was nice that he appeared at just the right moments. It was nice he was there right now.

"I, uh, um…" Draco murmured. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He took a seat on the rock were they last met and looked awkwardly up at Hermione, who was still frozen in her tracks. She kneeled close to him.

"Yeah?" Hermione asked, her blue eyes flickering, trying to delve in his silvery calm ones. Her hair was kept neatly in a bun atop her head, and she wore a simple cotton dress that floated below her knees. Draco could not help but ogle. He felt himself blushing. She smiled, empathizing his surprise.

"Nothing. Trying to make small talk."

"You're bad at it," Hermione teased.

"That hurts. But I guess that's what life is. It's life. It fuckin' hurts at times. But it's really what we've got," he rambled, not really thinking of her. He tugged on his gray scarf and plucked a flower from the grass unconsciously.

"Yeah," Hermione replied, carefully thinking upon his words.

"You ready to tell me the story yet?"

"Not quite," Hermione smiled. She blew her bangs, and stared up at the blank, gray sky. She laid down on the grass, with Draco helping her down the high rock. Their hands awkwardly met. No romantic feelings were harbored, yet a bursting embarrassing moment divided them. Draco's pale fingers stroked them once again. They felt cold. She smacked his fingers, and he lightly chuckled. Not creepily, though.

"Hey, did I tell you that you look nice today?"

"Thanks. You know, I wanna thank you for helping me through all this crap. Couldn't have done it without you," Hermione said, reaching out her hand for a handshake. Draco took it. Their hands held together for so long, a stretching awkwardness formed between them. They let go.

"You're welcome," he replied, genuinely surprised.

"Everything oddly feels like the beginning again…but I don't think the end has come yet." It started drizzling.

*~*~*~*~*

He tasted the sweet passion of her lips meet his. He felt lips on his, and looked up to see Ginny Weasley playfully grazing him everywhere. Harry liked Ginny. She obeyed him. She made him happy. What he wanted, she complied. His touch completed her touch. And his kisses were sweeter than honey to her.

Harry caressed Ginny's long dark orange hair delicately. It felt silky and lustrous, and nice between his rugged fingers. She reciprocated his action, and softly pet his scar after she brushed his thick black hair up with her long, slender fingers.

Yet he could not help but feel watched. After what had looked like eating his face for half an hour, Ginny moaned lowly and sat up straight, turning her face to the fuzzy fire next to them, and then back at Harry.

"Is there something wrong, Harry?" Ginny said, staring into his bright green eyes. She retained an immunity from their evil glares. That was the thing about Ginny Weasley. She had a squalid promiscuous flair to her; nevertheless she was ridiculously strong, emotionally and physically.

"No," he answered, his eyes drifting off somewhere into her sky blue eyes.

But there was something wrong. Something incredibly wrong. Harry's intuition made him nervous. Why did her feel so scared…even though he had one of the most beautiful girls at Hogwarts wrapped around his fingers?

He looked at Ginny. He dug deep in her eyes, her earth-brown eyes and found something. A mundane, yet lustful feeling.

He remembered wanting to make love to Hermione Granger weeks ago. He remembered forcing it on her.

He remembered touching her, exotically in all the places a man would have only being able to dream of doing. The memory came to him like a sweet drug, a sweet alcohol, and the taste burning between his curling lips. His mind went insane, yet he felt happy, ridiculously happy. He relived the night, oh that beloved night, where he was her master, she the concubine, screaming and trapped like a scared little animal.

He _liked_ it.

He did not have a single remorse. He would get away. No one would know. She obeyed quietly for weeks without a single chirp.

And yet he could not ignore the strange ticking of the clock or the suspicious glances from the moving portraits on the walls. A yellow and gray butterfly settled on the windowpane from afar, not moving at all, yet seeming to be keeping strong eye contact with him. Ginny left after one more kiss, and Harry approached the fluttery insect. It flew out the window and vanished. And strangely, a unison of clicks filled the room, and everything became very still.

He _knew_. And anger slowly bottled up. Taking his cloak, Harry walked out the complex quietly, checking behind to see no one saw him.

*~*~*~*~*

The sky was a light purple color, and Hermione perused the parameters of her little graveyard once again. She could not let go of the place mentally. Physically, she was merely on prefect duty. She held her hot lamp steadily, feeling warm and fuzzy from its heat. Her wand dropped.

And she heard a sound. "Get back in the dorms! It's almost ten," she yelled nervously, feeling defenseless without her wand.

She fumbled the ground to look for her wand. Hermione felt an eerie presence stalk her under the slowly fading sunset. A broken sense of anger and hate, infused with a trace of strong alcohol floated in the air. The smell was too familiar. The hairs on her back jumped, and her nose whiffed a sharp scent of danger. A rugged, cold hand stroked her back. Hermione experienced chills running down her back, freezing her whole body.

Yet she turned and only saw air.

"Harry." Her lamp dropped and crashed onto the floor. Shards of broken glass fell to the cold ground.

Her wand floated in the air facetiously.

"Hermione, lovely," the dastard uncloaked himself. Hermione's chest tightened. She could not think. Her mind thought of the social worker's gray eyes. They thought of Draco's soothing voice. They thought of nothing.

She turned quickly. "You dropped something, dear."

She did not turn to face him and before too soon he had gagged her with the Invisible Cloak. She stepped on his shoes vehemently, and heard the wand fall on the ground. The girl barely reached it, and stuffed it in her pocket frantically.

He smiled, grinning his poster-boy white pearls. Her heart raced. She felt her throat tightened. Her eyes blacked out, and only saw the outline of Harry's accursed face hovering near hers.

"_Muffliato!_" Harry hissed. "Now no one can hear, lovely. You've reported me, haven't you, _you worthless whore_? You think I don't see little animals staring at me, or the clock in the complex winking at me? Or how the portraits look like Aurors?" Hermione let out a muffled scream. No one could hear her but Harry. He pointed his slender wand to her neck and forced his crushing body weight on her. She smelled the overbearing scent of Firewhiskey crawl down her neck and shut her eyes when they met with Harry's florescent green bulbs.

She felt him explicitly and inappropriately touch her, touching places that bore the haunting, numbing scars he had formed during their last encounter. Places he violated, unwrapped, and stripped the beauty of.

Her legs went cold and numb under her faded jeans. "Haven't you, _you godforsaken slut_?" His hand strangled her neck and she let out hopeless whimpers. She fought back. But his body build crushed her arms and left her with a sinking feeling on the floor of the dark forest. His voice lacked the passion of a lover; it had the breath of a monster, instead. His wet lips met hers again. They tasted disgusting. They tasted like alcohol and her own tears. Big, crocodile teardrops lanced down her face and she fought back uselessly.

But she remembered what Draco told her.

She was not weak. And in that realization the brunette stopped crying. Hermione became completely quiet. She lay under his sweating body, dead silent. She made sure nothing stirred. Her heavy breathing slowed down, as his lips disgustingly hovered above her own.

Harry finally caught his prey. He had subdued her, poisoned her. She lay, a torn woman, a used woman. He felt domineering. He was her master. The trashy feeling of misogyny provided explicit, euphoric amusement for him. Yet, the green-eyed boy lacked something. Not that guilt caved him, but rather, _dissatisfaction_. Justice was blind, or was it?

And because of a reaction to some sick, sadistic bone in his body, Harry stopped. Something felt wrong. She was not scared. He did not have any power over her. She _allowed_ him to do this to her. His wand pointed to her neck dumbly, letting go of her lips and body.

In the few seconds Harry stopped, Hermione used her time wisely. She struggled, and successfully kicked him off her body with her free legs. She felt her arms regain their strength once more and caught a strong grip on her resilient wand. And somewhere in the beginning of the night, a bird cried, and not in pain nor in vain. It had won. The ground heated with the bodies that had lay on it. But Hermione stood above the ground, and reclaimed the position of dominance. Harry laughed hysterically at the notion of his defeat. Hermione's ears curled.

She pointed her wand to Harry's neck, kneeling above him. "Your move, chuckles." Hermione bit her lip and fought the fear slowly trickling down her throat. Her breath felt heavy and slow, her heart raced incessantly. The moon hung in victory, and in praise.

*~*~*~*

Days had passed since Harry was called on in by the Ministry. He lied. And made up an alibi. Yet when the strong taste of Veritaserum trickled down his throat, truth poured out, monotonously, reluctantly. It burned like his alcohol, but left a distasteful tingle to his taste buds. He did not like it. The charges went through, and the Ministry sentenced him ten years in Azkaban. No trials were necessary.

Hermione stirred her coffee with ease and peace at mind. She retained her odd habit of carefully observing a room. She was in a diner, on a red chair, talking to Draco. His blonde hair was not slicked back today. His eyes remained earthy and cool, and he gave off a stunning look of humility. The radio played an old, upbeat song, filling the emptiness in the air. No words were necessary, but they kept a complaisant conversation.

She no longer felt awkward around him. She never felt awkward around him too long. Her trust in humanity finally strengthened once more, no longer hidden in Harry's sordid shadows. She faced Draco's light instead, as cliche as it may sound.

"Draco?" She put her eyes off her coffee and stared into Draco's eyes. They gave her comfort. And her blue eyes brought him surprise and a strange occurring happiness.

"Yeah?" Draco looked up from his strawberry smoothie.

"I'd like to tell you about it."

"I'd like to hear." Draco smiled. The broken puzzle pieces fit together, and all that was left to do was look at the resulting picture.

With an open heart and open ears, Draco listened. He listened, and he felt her story come alive. He could not help but smile, though.

She was finally okay.

**FINISHED.**

A/N: At this point, I'd like to thank all my readers and reviewers. You've kept up with Hermione until now. And I thank you for that. That's it.


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